


I Give My Life To You

by deliciously_devient



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bloodplay, M/M, Mmmm, Murder, Vampire Sex, Vampire!John, Vampires, but its just moriarty, not sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 22:25:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciously_devient/pseuds/deliciously_devient
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson was four years old when he was turned into a vampire; for the most part, it was fairly easy to ignore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Give My Life To You

**Author's Note:**

> So there will be at least one more chapter, updated sporadically, and yes, there will be smut. Any suggestions are welcomed, and I hope you all enjoy.

John Watson was four years old when he was turned into a vampire.

He didn't remember much about that day, which was a bit odd because he could recall almost every detail of his life from his birth to the present day with perfect clarity, but he never really questioned it. Being turned was incredibly painful, and he'd been severely injured to boot because the maniac who'd turned him had been caught by a coven whom he was trying to eradicate. There had been a fight, and John had been used as a shield by the rogue vampire, or so he'd been told. Suffice it to say, John had barely survived, and he would have been killed if it weren't for his mother, who begged the coven to spare him.

They agreed, on the condition that she never allow John to drink human blood, and let one of the coven visit him every month to ensure that he stayed on a diet of pigeon blood and human food.

John had liked Scarlet, the elder vampire who had visited him every month and taught him how to control his strength and speed in front of humans, how to hunt wildlife on his own, how to control the color of his eyes when he was angry and all the other stuff that came along with being a vampire.

Once John had mastered his body -vampires didn't age after a certain point in their developement, about ten years after they'd been created, but they could make themselves look older or younger as they pleased- he almost forgot about his vampireness. Once he'd settled, he didn't even really need blood, maybe a rat or pigeon once every few months, but that was it. He wasn't sensitive to sunlight -which, Scarlet told him, was a myth purpotrated by vampires themselves so that humans would feel safe during the day- and garlic made his nose wrinkle, but that was because of the taste.

Silver, however, he soon discovered, was the bane of his existence. He found that out, not from touching it, but by trying to pierce his ears. He had inserted some soft silver studs into his freshly pierced ears, only to promptly scream in agony as his ears smoked and burned. He hadn't gone near the stuff since.

Aside from the blood and his silver...allergy, it was relatively easy to forget his species. John had spent so long not using his superior speed and strength that he forgot he was anything more than average, and if he could pick out people's individual scents and hear the heartbeat of anyone within a five mile radius, he learned to ignore that.

When his parents died, he mourned them like any other son; he only had a single thought to maybe bringing them back like him, but discarded it. He didn't know how to turn someone anyway, knowledge Scarlet had said he wouldn't be allowed by their coven. If he wanted to learn, he'd have to find other vampires to teach him.

John wasn't so sure he wanted to make other vampires; in a way, it was like having children, and he didn't really want children. He was barely an adult himself, and going off to med school, and then off to war. There was no room for a fledgling vampire in his schedule.

It was pure chance that he was invalided at all; John had taken more than one bullet and not had more than a momentary pause, something he thanked his lucky stars for when he first realized the advantage of his species. Private James Rodney was a vampire, and he was the one the hostile had been gunning for; thanks to John, however, the silver bullet that would have killed Rodney went through his shoulder instead, and the hostile was dispatched quickly by the younger vampire.

"Oh god, Captain Watson, I'm so sorry, you should have let him shoot me," Rodney blabbered as he fussed over John, trying to stem the bleeding.

"Hurts...why does it hurt?" John said dazedly, and Rodney frowned and took a good sniff, and his eyes widened comically.

"Oh dear God, you're a vampire too," he said, looking more scared than before. He looked towards the dead hostile, and his eyess widened in recognition. "He came after me...that means he had silver ammunition," Rodney muttered, and his movements became more frantic.

"Sorry about this Captain, but if you don't get that bullet out now, you'll die, and I'm not having thatt on my conscious," he said grimly, his fingers forming into claws and his eyes turning an unnatural black before he ripped into John's shoulder, grasping the bullet before yanking it out. John screamed in agony, going limp and almost incognizant with the pain. 

He felt something wet at his lips, and he licked it absently. It had the metallic taste of blood, but it was stale, unappetizing.

"I know its not the best but you've gotta have something now," Rodney said quietly. "When we get you back, Levins will let you feed from him and you'll be right as rain."

"Not suppos'd...to feed from humans," John muttered vaguely, and then everything went black.

When he woke up, it was in a military hospital, and he was told he would be going home as soon as he was well enough. Rodney was there, his eyes big and contrite, and just generally looking sorry.

"I'm so sorry Captain," he said. John only shook his head.

"You can't blame yourself for this," John said. "You had no way of knowing."

"But that bullet was meant for me!" Rodney burst, and John put a hand on the agitated vampires shoulder.

"You listen to me, Private. It was you or me, and I just happened to bee in the way. Now, you go back to the army, and you serve and you protect the other men out in the field the way only people like us can, understood?"

Rodney swallowed, but after a moment, he nodded.

"Yessir," he said, and after that he left John, who sighed and leaned back against his pillows, and thought about human blood for a moment; he'd never had it, but he knew that it would be the only way to fully heal a wound inflicted by silver.

After a moment, he decided it wasn't worth it, and went to sleep and dreamt of bullets and stale blood.  
***

When John returned home, he purchased silver bullets for his Browning.

He wasn't going to /use/ them, he said firmly to himself. They were...just in case. In case he met other, hostile vampires. Yeah.

He stayed in his dingy bedsit, talked to his therapist, whom he couldn't even reveal the nature of his wound to, and he drank pigeon blood with a frown.

It seemed that now, after all these years, that humans smelled like food more than ever. He had never had trouble ignoring the taste of humans before, but now, with his shoulder always aching, he had trouble not dropping his fangs and having a bite of the nearest pedestrian who smelled good.

John knew that the old coven that his mother had made a pact with had disbanded; Scarlet had told him in a letter about two years ago, and had said he was no longer bound by the agreements his mother made, and warned him away from the foolishness of joining a coven at all. He knew that, if he liked, he could find some cute young thing to feed off, even go to one of the local blood bars -there were seven just in London- and his shoulder would be fixed and he wouldn't have to worry about it any longer.

There was still a deep-seated wrongness to feeding off a human for him, however; he'd gone into the medical field to help people, and taking blood from someone, even someone who knew what he was and was willing, was just so /wrong./

So he languished and he shut himself up for days at a time, indulging in the one vampiric ability he actually liked; he could force himself to sleep, sometimes for weeks on end, without waking or needing to use the loo. It was an ability he had abused as a teenager, and he used it now with just as much impunity. Scarlet had told him that it was an ability that helped them both hide, and recover from grievous injuries.

John was not quite content with his life just then, but he figured he had most of the rest of eternity to find something else that would ensnare his fancy.

He was not aware how right he was.  
***

When John walked into the labratory at St. Bart's, the first thing that hit him was the /scent./ It was rich and heady, like chocolate and cinnamon, and it made his mouth water. John had never fancied himself as bisexual, but looking at the tall, pale creature in front of him, he could easily see himself going gay for him.

And then he opened his mouth and disected almost everything about John in that deep, hypnotizing voice that had John's fangs aching in his mouth to feed on this gorgeous male in front of him.

Of course John killed for him; he'd barely known him a day, but he was enraptured. He wanted Sherlock Holmes, in a strange way that he had never wanted anyone else. He could pick up his scent no matter how faint or how far, and he knew he would take a silver bullet to the heart for that man.

When Moriarty confronted them, John thought they were done for. The explosives had been dealt with -Moriarty had only seen John's hands flutter, but they were inactive now- but John was convinced the snipers were armed with silver, if not vampires themselves.

But as Moriarty spoke....John realized something. Like Sherlock, he didn't even seem to know about the existence of the supernatural, and John began to smile, then grin, then laugh.

"Now, what is so funny?" Moriarty demanded irritably, and even Sherlock was giving him a look.

"Tell me, Moriarty...your snipers, what sort of rounds do they have?" John asked, his eyes just faintly glimmering red.

"Armor piercing, explosive rounds," Moriarty said, looking faintly puzzled. "What does it matter? They could kill you in a second."

John snorted. "So...no silver?"

Moriarty frowned harder. "Silver? Why would they have silver rounds? Silver is not a good metal for bullets, you daft idiot."

John laughed outright. "Oh, you poor fool. I thought you /knew./ But you don't, of course you don't, if Sherlock didn't know how could you?"

Moriarty opened his mouth, and in the second it took him to begin to form words, John had moved.

He slammed into Sherlock, picking the man up with ease and rushing him into an aclove, where he would be mostly safe from gunfire. He then turned back, and was on Moriarty before he could even begin his sentence.

"You made a grave mistake today," John growled, and his fangs were out and heavy in his mouth, and he could tell his eyes were red by the way Moriarty was staring at him. "It is your last."

And then he was tearing into Moriarty's jugular, not even trying to use the delicate sort of bite that would make the least mess, and hot, /human/ blood was flowing into his mouth and down his throat. He felt full after a few pulls, but he kept drinking, determined to drain Moriarty dry. He felt a power thrumming through his veins, a power he'd never known before, and he knew that this was why he'd been forbidden human blood. It was ambrosia, a cure all, an energy boost like no other.

John dropped Moriarty's body, lifeless and staring, and turned his eyes toward the snipers. He vaguely registered that they'd shot him, but he barely felt the pinpricks, and he snarled as he took off, following the faint scents the bullets had brought. He didn't drain the snipers, just snapped their necks, before he returned to the pool, and Sherlock.

The detective was kneeling beside Moriarty's body, and when he noticed John, his head snapped up. His pale eyes were wide and almost frightened, and John was suddenly aware of the blood smeared on his mouth, and he wiped it away hastily, and willed his fangs away.

"Sherlock," John said softly, raising his palms up, and kneeling just like the detective. "You know I would never hurt you. Let's go back to the flat, yeah? I'll make you a cuppa, and we can just relax, okay?"

Slowly, Sherlock nodded, but his eyes were still wide. He did, however, let John approach and they left the pool after John disposed of Moriarty's body. Sherlock was silent on the ride home, staring out of the window, and John could hear the quickness of his heart, the underlying stink of fear in his normally rich scent.

John was expecting a confrontation as soon as they were in the door of the flat, but, strangely, it didn't come. John made the promised cup of tea, and Sherlock took it, collapsing onto the sofa with his thinking expression. John settled into his chair, and let his eyes close as he listened to the comforting heartbeat of his friend and flatmate.

There was silence, but it wasn't tense or loaded; it was comfortable, and the scent of fear slowly faded altogether. John was considering taking a nap in his chair when Sherlock finally spoke.

"How long?" he asked quietly. John didn't have to ask to know what he meant.

"Since I was four," he replied easily.

Sherlock was silent for a moment. "Why didn't you tell me?" There was a note of hurt to his voice that made John slightly guilty.

"There are rules. You can't just tell anyone...and well, after I knew I could trust you, I knew that you'd want to poke around me and try to find others and...well, if you aren't Claimed, that's a quick way to get killed."

Another silence, this one contemplaitive. "The snipers. They shot you several times; if regular bullets can't hurt you, how were you invalided?"

"Silver bullet," John said. "There was another vampire in our rank, and it was meant for him, but got me instead. I didn't drink human blood so it didn't heal all the way."

Sherlock frowned, mouthing something, and then his eyes went wide and accusatory. "You have silver bullets!" he cried, and he stood up, glaring down at John. "Were you...you were going to kill yourself!"

"No-Sherlock calm down! I wasn't!" John said, standing up and putting his hands on Sherlock's shoulders in an effort to calm the man. "I...I did think about it, when I was first invalided. But then I met you, and you made my life interesting again, and I got rid of them two months ago, okay?"

Sherlock's eyes were half lidded, and the scent of anger was still fresh in the air, and he slowly raised his hands, cupping John's cheeks.  
"You...you are /not allowed/ to die, do you hear me John?"

John smiled, leaning into the touch slightly, covering Sherlock's hands with his own. "I hear you," he said quietly, and even though Sherlock moved slowly, hesitantly, he was still surprised by the kiss.

It was slow and sweet and gentle, everything that Sherlock was not, and it was the best kiss John had ever gotten. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock, pulling the man tight against his body, opening his mouth when Sherlock's tongue pleaded for entrance.

When they pulled apart, they rested their foreheads against eachother, and Sherlock's arms tightened around John.

"Never leave me," Sherlock said quietly, and John placed one hand over the detective's fluttering heart. 

"Never," he promised.


End file.
